


Fallout: METS-Men

by Draco_Rattus



Category: Arashi (Band), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_Rattus/pseuds/Draco_Rattus
Summary: (Fic series inspired bythese Kirin METS advertsand the 'Fallout' games by Bethesda, particularly Fallout: New Vegas.)In the post-apocalyptic wasteland of the Nevada desert, only the METS-Men - MJ-II (Matsumoto Jun), Big-No (Ohno Satoshi) and Ayber (Aiba Masaki) - can keep the wrath of the Thirst Ghouls from overrunning what remains of New City.  As well as the ever-present danger of the Ghouls, there are threats from within as Johnny's Entertainment battles the LDH Corporation for dominance of the City itself.  Can the METS-Men not only defeat the Thirst Ghouls, but also bring peace to New City and even find love along the way?((This fic will feature Sakumoto (Sakurai Sho/Matsumoto Jun), Ohmiya (Ohno Satoshi/Ninomiya Kazunari), Yokoyaiba (Yokoyama You/Aiba Masaki) and Mabnag (Masahiro Matsuoka/Nagase Tomoya).  Sakurai Sho will be turning up soon, and there will also be appearances from Kanjani8 and TOKIO.))





	1. Calling

**Author's Note:**

> ((This fic was inspired by [these Kirin METS adverts.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ir4HBMgyc7k) I'm also a huge fan of Fallout 3, Fallout 4 and Fallout: New Vegas, and the adverts just seemed to fit nicely into the Fallout world, so here we are. I'd just like to apologise in advance to the members of both fandoms for what I've done. I also don't hate LDH, but I needed a suitable rival for Johnny's Entertainment and they seemed to fit the bill nicely! ^^))

Nevada, North America, 2281. Following a series of catastrophic nuclear strikes which devastated the Earth, the desert around what used to be Las Vegas had become unsafe territory indeed; over the intervening centuries the area had become the hunting ground of wild beasts and hideous monsters, not to mention dangers of the more human variety. Las Vegas itself was now known as New City, a last bastion of humanity in a barren wasteland, a town over which the ruling factions of Johnny's Entertainment and the LDH Corporation battled for superiority not only of the crumbling casinos and music halls but also over the city itself.

But it hadn't been only the atomic bombs which had laid waste to humanity. As well as the Feral Ghouls and Super Mutants which had emerged as a result of humans being over-exposed to radiation and other chemicals, many people had fallen victim to the crippling dehydration of the wasteland and become Thirst Ghouls, forsaken husks willing to literally kill for their next drink. Some said the Thirst Ghouls had been created by the LDH Corporation as a bio-weapon, a means to gain the upper hand over Johnny's Entertainment; some said they were the product of a failed experiment on unsuspecting music fans centuries before. Either way, the only way to defeat them was to rehydrate them before their bodies became too dried out to function properly any more. To become completely dehydrated was to greet only death.

Amidst the ruins of this dry future existed Matsumoto Jun, Ohno Satoshi and Aiba Masaki – known as MJ-II, Big-No and Ayber - three men with special abilities allowing them to rehydrate the world. With the power of METS, the refreshing liquid brewed by Johnny's Entertainment, only they stood a chance of stopping the Thirst Ghouls overrunning New City. By night, they performed onstage for Johnny-san; by day, they ventured out into the wasteland on their quest to protect what remained of civilisation from the wrath of the Thirst Ghouls. They were the METS-Men.

=========================

“All clear!”

MJ-II dropped into a crouch, blowing the last few drops of moisture from the barrel of his METS-pistol and grinning, then turned with a flourish to face the two men standing on the roof of a ruined building a short distance away; he'd just finished blasting a sizeable gathering of Thirst Zombies with the hydrating liquid from his METS-pistol, restoring the zombies to their former humanity. A thin veil of sand, the dust stirred up from MJ-II's energetic battle, drifted across their silhouettes as the men on the roof watched their companion settle his fight. One of the men was dressed in faded leathers and armed with some kind of staff, his body tense and poised as if ready to spring into action; the other man was framed with a ragged cloak, his hand encased in what appeared to be an armoured gauntlet, a faint light glowing within its steel-plated palm.

“Finally. I was beginning to wonder whether I should take a nap.” Big-No, the one with the power glove, theatrically stifled a yawn with his free hand. “If I'd known I wasn't needed, I could have stayed in bed.”

“And miss seeing me make one hell of a big splash?”

“I wish you had a more dry sense of humour sometimes.”

“Aww, Big-No! Don't be so wet.”

“It's still good practice for us to be here.” Ayber frowned, one hand poised at the ready over his staff; he'd been prepared to leap down and join in the fray if needed. He was always the one who worried the most about their encounters, balancing up the odds, keeping an eye out for potential danger and covering his team-mates' backs. “Although your puns _are_ getting worse, MJ.”

“What's that, Ayber? Don't tell me your sense of humour is starting to desert you.”

Smirking at his own – admittedly terrible - wordplay, MJ-II watched the other two men as they made their way down to join him; Big-No leapt from the roof in a single jump to land on one knee, his cloak billowing around him, whereas Ayber vaulted down into the sand using his staff to steady himself as he did so.

“Enough with the jokes. These people need help.” Ayber swept his arm out to indicate the dazed crowd of former Thirst Zombies now sitting before them, their faces and hands dripping with the welcome refreshment which MJ-II had provided. “You saved them before they could be turned into zombies permanently, but they're still going to need assistance getting back to the city. There's no way they were living here already; this place is far too run-down to be habitable.”

“I called for help before I even hydrated them.” MJ-II, nonchalant as ever, held up a small device which acted as a kind of long-distance walkie-talkie. “Johnny-san is sending out medics and a scout to bring them back to the city, so we're free to move out.”

It was a similar scene every time the group fought Thirst Ghouls. Once they had been rehydrated and regained their humanity, the victims were often confused and disorientated, weakened by their ordeal; they usually needed aid and time to recuperate, which the METS-Men often helped with as much as they could. Tonight, however, they were due to give a live performance, and if they stayed with the rehydrated victims they wouldn't even make it back to New City in time for the interval.

“Not bad.” Big-No made a face and nodded. Despite his dismissive comments earlier, he always was quietly proud of his companions' efforts. “I suppose we'd better get going, then. I want to do a practice run of our third song onstage before we---”

“Wait.” MJ-II suddenly stopped, holding up a hand as if asking for silence. “Do you hear that?”

“I can hear _you_ talking.” Big-No delivered his words with such a deadpan expression that Ayber couldn't tell whether the man was being serious or not. “And I already have to listen to that often enough.”

 _“Ssssssh!_ Over there.”

MJ-II raised his finger to his mouth, asking for silence, his hand then pointing towards one of the buildings on the other side of what had once been the town square. Squinting, both Ayber and Big-No followed his gaze – Big-No removing his goggles in order to do so – only to catch a glimpse of movement across the empty windows, the shuffle of footsteps, and nod in agreement that yes, they had indeed heard something.

“Another Thirst Ghoul, maybe?” Ayber offered his suggestion as a hushed whisper. “Maybe one of them had trouble getting outside?”

“No. It was moving too fast.” MJ-II started to walk slowly across the sand, heading towards where they had seen whatever it was stirring in the shadows. “I'm pretty sure I got all of the Thirst Ghouls out here, and there was enough METS to have drawn any remaining ones out of hiding. This looked more like a normal person.”

He paused, waiting for Ayber and Big-No to catch up, before edging closer towards the small structure which might once have been a shoddy bar or a cafe. Much of the paint had peeled away from the crumbling bricks, the once brightly-covered advertising boards which adorned the outer walls now faded and almost unreadable, although some of them may have been proclaiming the thirst-quenching properties of soft drinks or the pleasures of freshly-baked pastries. Several of the rehydrated humans moaned and stirred when MJ-II passed by but he did his best to ignore them, knowing at least that help would be on the way for them soon. No, his focus right now was on whatever awaited them inside this building, and he stepped up and pressed his ear against the ramshackle door which was by this point little more than a few warped boards hammered together to stop the sand getting inside.

One of the METS-Men's greatest strengths was their ability to work as a team. They had lived and fought alongside each other long enough to understand unspoken cues, to recognise hand signals and body language without needing to utter a single word. That was why MJ-II gesticulated silently to Ayber and Big-No as he took a position to one side of the door, indicating that they stand aside and be ready to move as he---

“Whoa!”

In one fluid movement MJ-II booted the door, kicking it aside, and sending the smaller man on the other side flying backwards onto the floor in surprise. A small cloud of dust rose where the man landed, but not enough to cover the tracks of his footsteps - he had clearly been moving slowly towards the door as MJ-II had been fighting, as evidenced by the line of boot prints which stretched along the length of the room. The stranger certainly didn't look like a Thirst Ghoul, however; slim and unassuming, dressed in a faded white shirt and shabby trousers which showed stains from both sweat and dirt, his skin appeared to be just as smooth and as normal as any other healthy human. His brown eyes stared with surprise from beneath an unkempt thatch of messy hair, his body trembling as he looked up at MJ-II, his hands scrambling for purchase on the bare floorboards as he attempted to get to his feet.

“Don't try to run.” MJ-II smiled down at his potential opponent, his METS-pistol held at the ready. It was currently set to 'hydrate' rather than 'ballistic' - the mode which would allow it to fire normal bullets - but the man on the floor had no way of knowing that. “We're not used to people leaving the show without at least waiting for an autograph.”

“Wh-who are you?” The man stammered, his eyes widening as he stared at the barrel of MJ-II's pistol, fear showing plainly on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn't we be asking  _you_  that?” Big-No stepped into the room, wasting no time in taking his place beside MJ-II and holding out his armoured METS-gauntlet in the direction of the newcomer. The palm of his gloved hand shone with an eerie light, bathing the man's face in a pale, ghostly glow. Whoever he was he clearly had at least enough sense to know when he was in danger, freezing in place and no longer trying to get to his feet or back away. "Who are _you?"_

“Me? I... I'm just looking for junk to sell!” As if to demonstrate this fact he started to reach slowly for a nearby bottle of Nuka-Cola which had been knocked off a shelf during his fall, and clutched onto it like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. “Junk, like this bottle! People _always_ want to buy this kind of stuff, right?”

“You're on your own in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Thirst Ghouls, yet somehow you manage to survive without a scratch – and you expect us to believe you're a harmless scavenger?" With a subtle gesture - one which the so-called scavenger wouldn't have noticed, but which both MJ-II and Ayber did – Big-No flicked the setting on his gauntlet from 'hydrate' to 'ballistic'. "I don't _think_ so."

“Stand down, Big-No.” MJ-II's words held a note of warning, his eyebrow raised in a subtle expression of caution. The last thing they needed right now was for Big-No to kill an innocent man.

“You're not my boss, MJ.” Big-No risked a quick glance at his team-mate before turning his attention back towards the man on the floor. “This thing could be dangerous.”

“He's not a  _thing.”_  Now it was Ayber's turn to defend the newcomer, deliberately moving to standing in the way of Big-No's outstretched palm. MJ-II had always said that mercy was Ayber's weak point, but in this situation, it was something of a blessing. “Let's at least give him a chance!”

“Thank you, Ayber.” Breathing a sigh of relief, MJ-II moved a little closer, allowing the supposed scavenger to sit up properly, if not get to his feet just yet. “What's your name?”

“N-N-Ninomiya. Ninomiya Kazunari.”

“Well then, N-N-Ninomiya,” MJ-II grinned, “You'll have to excuse us for a moment while we decide what to do with you. Ayber, Big-No – with me for a moment.”

With a flick of his head MJ-II indicated that the three METS-Men should confer in private, or at least in more hushed tones; they retreated into the corner, occasionally glancing back at this Ninomiya to make sure he didn't do anything foolish like trying to make a break for it.

“He's lying.” Big-No didn't even bother trying to keep his voice down. “I say we leave him here.”

“He's scared.” Ayber was as concerned as ever. “And I can't blame him for being scared if he was holed up in here surrounded by Thirst Ghouls. Can't we at least hear him out?”

“He's a complication.” MJ-II reminded them that their mission today had been to clear the town of Thirst Ghouls, not rescue any hostages. In their brief, nothing had been said about anyone other than the people they had been sent to rehydrate. It didn't mean that they wouldn't help the man – it wouldn't have been the first time the group had given aid to others without being asked, or paid – but it wasn't something they had expected, and that was unusual. Their boss normally gave detailed mission briefs, and for him to neglect to mention the presence of a human amongst Thirst Ghouls was a concerning oversight indeed. “Do you suppose Johnny-san even knew he was here?”

“Wait! I  _do_  know you.” Ninomiya's voice interrupted them, the man still sounding nervous, yet sure of his facts. “You're the METS-Men, aren't you?”

“And if we are?” MJ-II turned back towards him, Ayber and Big-No also following suit.

“You work for Johnny-san... don't you?”

“Yes, and...?”

It was certainly no secret that the METS-Men were on Johnny-san's payroll. If anything, their affiliation with him being public knowledge brought good publicity as well as the opportunity for some impressive photoshoots. Johnny-san was openly funding a team who could take down Thirst Ghouls - no wonder the METS-Men were popular, at least with Johnny's fans. The followers of the LDH Corporation were somewhat less enthusiastic, claiming that the heroics of the METS-Men were just a gimmick to cover their lack of musical talent, but that hadn't stopped Johnny-san's proteges from becoming the most popular celebrities in New City.

“Well then... in that case...” Ninomiya's shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily, as if resigned to some kind of dark fate. “You've come for me, haven't you?”

 _“What?”_  That was unexpected. “What do you mean by _that?”_

“I should have known I wouldn't be able to get very far.”

“You're not making any sense.” Ayber attempted to sound soothing. “You wouldn't be able to get very far from  _what?”_

 _Dammit, Ayber!_  thought MJ-II.  _If you'd kept quiet, perhaps he would have told us more!_

“I've said too much.” And with those words Ninomiya Kazunari drew himself into a small ball, his lips drawing into a thin line as he clamped his mouth tightly shut.

“Oh, great. Now we're going to  _have_  to take him with us.” Big-No rolled his eyes in exasperation. “But that doesn't mean we have to escort him back ourselves. Why don't we just leave him here to get picked up by the medical team?”

“Because we can't risk it.” Now it was MJ-II's turn to seem suspicious. Whatever Ninomiya's secret was, they couldn't trust the man not to run away before back-up arrived. “He comes with us. That way we can make sure he can answer our questions... and believe me, I have questions.”

“Okay, then.” Big-No nodded, eventually. “But I don't have to  _like_  it.”

"At least this way, we can be sure that he's safe." Ayber was smiling, perhaps the only one of them actually pleased by this arrangement. "Whatever he's running from, we won't allow him to come to harm, right?"

"He's running from  _us,_  Ayber." MJ-II looked grim. "He's running from Johnny-san, anyway - at least, that's what I think he meant."

"He... oh." Ayber's face fell. "Well... we can at least make sure he's treated fairly, can't we? Johnny-san is a good man."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too." MJ-II glanced over at Big-No, then back down to Ninomiya. He held out a hand and touched Ninomiya on his shoulder. "Hey. Get up. You are coming with us, but we're not going to hurt you."

Ninomiya nodded mutely, then slowly rose to his feet, although he refused the offer of MJ-II's hand. The bottle he had picked up rolled away from him in the dirt, forgotten; he didn't even seem to have a weapon on him, his belt empty of any gun holsters or sheathed knives, his dirty clothes holding nothing but his small body. He appeared to be quietly resigned to his fate.

"Come on, METS-Men.” MJ-II sighed. The triumphant victory he had gained over the Thirst Zombies seemed to have evaporated like so much wasted METS, the appearance of this Ninomiya Kazunari casting a shadow of unease across the day. “Let's get going."

And with those words the four men - led by MJ-II, the three combatants flanking their possible captive - headed out once more onto the burning hot sands, beginning their walk back together towards New City.

=========================

But the small group making their way across the wasteland were not the only ones aware of what had just happened in that ruined town. Not too many miles away a lone man watched their progress on the grainy screen of a battered old monitor, apparently amused by the actions of the METS-Men, smiling to himself as he considered his next move.

_So, they caught Ninomiya Kazunari. Good. This should make things a lot more interesting._


	2. Ashita no Kioku

By the time the METS-Men arrived back at the Tops casino – one of the only remaining casinos left on the New City Strip, and their base of operations as well as the venue for their performances – preparations were already well under way for the evening's show. Despite the run-down, dilapidated look of the post-apocalyptic city, it was one of the only remaining centres of civilisation for many miles around, and it certainly showed tonight; cracked and flickering street lights illuminated the broken tarmac of the city streets, streets which had not seen a car drive down them for over two hundred years. Despite this fact they were far from empty, the road in front of the casino thronged with fans waiting to see the METS-Men performing live.

They had anticipated this far in advance though, which was why there was a secret back entrance to the casino which only the METS-Men knew about. Slinking through the abandoned backstreets as quietly as they could, the four men – MJ-II, Big-No and Ayber, still accompanied by a shivering Ninomiya Kazunari – slipped into the side door of an unassuming ruin, a house which had partly collapsed, and made their way to the trapdoor in the corner of the room. The rotting old rug which half-covered it concealed a rusted old keypad which, when pressed, unsealed the trapdoor to reveal an underground passageway which led back into the Tops casino itself. MJ-II entered first, closely followed by Ayber, with Ninomiya following next and Big-No bringing up the rear; this way he could keep an eye on the small man to make sure he didn't try to make an escape. Not that there would have been anywhere for him to go within the cramped confines of the passageway, but it was better to be safe rather than sorry.

Several minutes of walking through the passageway – a maintenance tunnel by the looks of it, bare concrete walls flanked by crumbling pipework and loose wiring, illuminated by fading, yellowed lighting – and they reached a small flight of steps leading up to a metal door with another keypad. Inputting the number MJ-II opened it and stepped through, the heavy smell of metal and engine oil washing out into the corridor, accompanied by what sounded like a subdued roar. Ninomiya's eyes widened, and his hair stood on end; what kind of monster was being kept in there? Suddenly panicked he turned to run, briefly forgetting that Big-No blocked his exit, and instead of being able to bolt for safety he was instead confronted by a smiling Big-No who appeared to find the situation somewhat entertaining.

“Oh, you don't know about Atsui?”

“A-Atsui?”

“The _other_ METS-Man.” Big-No, still grinning, swept his hand back towards the doorway, into which MJ-II and Ayber had already disappeared. “He's not so good when it comes to singing, so he doesn't perform onstage with us. But when it comes to dealing with technology - fixing our lights, managing the sound system, making sure we can broadcast on the radio - there's nobody better.”

Ninomiya squinted into the shadows through the doorway, and he could swear he saw... _fur?_

“He's not bad with a sword either, so don't go getting any ideas.” Big-No, perhaps remembering that he was supposed to be a guard rather than a guide, gave Ninomiya a gentle prod with an armoured finger. “Anyway, get moving. We've still got a live show to prepare for.”

Not really having much of a choice, Ninomiya did as he was told and climbed the stairs to the doorway, his heart skipping a beat at the prospect of what he might find inside. A quick glance around the room showed the walls to be made up of rusty panels, upon which hung a wide range of tools – spanners, wrenches, a soldering iron, other implements he couldn't even name – and pushed against the walls were a series of workbenches holding a variety of half-finished projects. Dismantled engines, vehicle parts, what could have been the components from heavy weapons, all carefully laid out, some in the process of being cleaned and reassembled. And in the centre of the room, a huge, white-furred thing which seemed to be shaking hands with MJ-II.

“Atsui!” MJ-II was grinning up at the beast, seemingly unconcerned that the creature sported arms which looked strong enough to rip his head off at any moment. “Got anything new planned for us tonight?”

 _“That's_ Atsui?”

“Yes.” Big-No nodded in confirmation, entertained by Ninomiya's reaction, as he always was when newcomers found out about their bestial team-mate. “He won't hurt you. At least, not unless you annoy him.”

“Hrrrrrrrrgh!” 

With what could have been a sound of greeting, the furry white giant known as Atsui turned to snarl – to smile? - at Big-No, who returned the gesture with a slight incline of his head.

“Rrrrrgh?” Atsui took a step closer and leaned down towards Ninomiya, sniffing him much in the same manner as a dog might smell a piece of meat. “Nnnnrrrgh... raaaarrrargh?”

“Yeah, that's right.” Big-No smiled and nodded in response. Although both of the other METS-Men could understand the white creature's gestures and facial expressions, Big-No was the only one who had had any success in actually learning how to interpret its grunts and growls and turn those sounds into meaningful statements. “I don't think he's an immediate threat to us, though. Still, we're going to keep an eye on him anyway.”

Apparently satisfied by Big-No's reply, the large white creature nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to what he'd been busy repairing, a large piece of metal which could either have been a piece of armour or perhaps the metal plating from the side of a vehicle. 

“...and you're all _okay_ with this?” Ninomiya was trembling slightly, somewhat disturbed by the fact the METS-Men seemed perfectly happy to work alongside what seemed to be a large and dangerous walking carpet. “What _is_ he, anyway?”

“Don't be rude.” Big-No cut Ninomiya off curtly, the pleasant manner in which he had spoken to Atsui apparently gone, and he hustled the small man after MJ-II and Ayber who were already exiting the room, leaving the furry creature alone to tinker with whatever he had been working on before their arrival. “He's a mechanic and an electrician of sorts, if that's what you mean. As for what kind of creature he is, well... he's certainly not human, and I'm not sure he ever was.”

“Do you even know where he came from? How old he is?”

“I have my suspicions, but he's not the most talkative of souls.”

“He seems intelligent enough...”

“He's good at what he does.” Big-No smiled, then checked himself. The exchange between the two of them was becoming far too friendly; Ninomiya was still a potential hostile, a captive enemy, and he needed to be treated as such. For all that he appeared to be harmless on the outside, he could be hiding any kind of danger within. They couldn't discount the possibility that the man had been left there on purpose for the METS-Men to 'accidentally' find. “Anyway... look, I'm sorry, but we're going to have to secure you somewhere.”

“Oh.” Ninomiya's face visibly fell. Like Big-No he, too, had forgotten for a moment the sheer gravity of the situation, distracted as he was by his meeting with Atsui. “I'm a prisoner now, I guess.”

“Something like that, yes.” Big-No came to a halt, calling for the attention of his fellow METS-Men. “MJ-II, Ayber – I'm going to make sure we put Ninomiya somewhere safe – and secure.”

“Got it!” MJ-II responded with a thumbs-up, Ayber with a nod. “We'll head on up and start getting ready.”

“I'll see you up there.” 

After giving MJ-II a wave, Big-No led Ninomiya into one of the storage areas near Atsui's workshop, picking out one of the places where they sometimes stored old stage props, although the room was currently empty. Well, it wasn't a room as such; it was a secured area a few metres squared constructed of thick wire mesh, enough to be able to see in and out, but the metal was strong enough to prevent a human from breaking through it. It wasn't an ideal prison but it would keep Ninomiya out of any potential trouble until the METS-Men's performance was over – or so Big-No hoped.

He also made sure to grab a spare blanket from the pile which served as Atsui's bedding - as well as a packet of dry chips and a few bottles of drink from a cupboard which held a store of food – so at least Ninomiya would be a little more comfortable. He was their prisoner for now, yes, but they weren't even sure yet what they were accusing him of. Not only that, but Big-No couldn't help but feel sympathy for the man, despite the fact that he remained wary. He had his reasons. “Stay in here for now, and I'll come and see you after the show.”

Ninomiya nodded meekly, not seeing any options other than to do what Big-No was ordering him to do, stepping inside the small caged area and turning to watch as the door was locked behind him. Once inside he slumped down beside the blanket, watching Big-No through the wire mesh until he had disappeared out of sight; and then, captive and alone, he slumped down against the locked doorway and wondered at his fate.

=========================

Despite the events of the day and the knowledge that they held a potential enemy captive within the building, the METS-Men's performance that evening was as slick and professional as ever. True to his word – his growl, anyway – Atsui's management of the stage lighting went off without a single hitch, his choice of subtle mood lighting for the slow songs and bright, flashing colours to accompany their more lively numbers pleasing both the crowd and the METS-Men themselves. It was a satisfied trio which made their final bow and retreated behind the curtains at the end of the show, leaving the crowd – as always – cheering for more.

“Not bad,” MJ-II smiled, wiping at his brow with a small towel. “Nice work, everyone! I bet we're going to feel that in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Ayber winced, stretching his arms with a grimace. “I'm already feeling it now. I've almost forgotten what sleep is like.”

“And you weren't even doing any fighting today!” MJ-II playfully chided Ayber with a flick of his towel. “Maybe you're just getting old.”

“Hey!” Ayber responded by swatting MJ-II's hair, Big-No shaking his head with mock disapproval.

“Well, I'll leave you two old men to fight things out between yourselves.” That was some fine talk coming from Big-No, seeing as he was the oldest one out of all of them. “In case you'd forgotten, there's a man locked in one of the rooms downstairs for some reason we don't know about, and I want answers.”

“Sorry, you'll have to take care of that without me for now.” MJ-II managed an apologetic smile. “Believe me, I'm very much looking forward to hearing what Ninomiya has to say, but tonight I've got another appointment to keep.”

Both Big-No and Ayber raised their eyebrows at that.

“Is it a woman, or...?”

“No, it's one of my contacts.” MJ-II's expression hardened. As well as his combat capabilities, he had proven to be something of an expert when it came to gathering information too; it wasn't always what you knew but _who_ you knew, and Matsumoto MJ-II seemed to know a lot of people in the New City Wasteland. “I've arranged to meet them in Gomorrah tonight, and...”

“Gomorrah.” Ayber's nose wrinkled in distaste. The casino called Gomorrah served as the centre of operations for the LDH Corporation, and it was located just down the New City Strip from the METS-Mens' own base within the Tops. Anything and everything was for sale in Gomorrah, provided you had the means to pay for it, and money wasn't the only source of currency used there either. “Are you sure you're going to be okay?”

“I'll be fine. I've been there more than once before.” _And I hated it every single time,_ MJ-II thought, remembering the brazen way in which Gomorrah's more physically-talented employees had always flaunted themselves in front of him. He could certainly appreciate the appeal of naked skin, but it was no secret that the people selling their bodies in Gomorrah were often those who were just plain out of luck; in many cases they had lost all of their money at the casino's gambling tables, and their bodies were all they had left to offer. “Besides, the LDH wouldn't dare to mess with us so openly.”

“Let's hope so.” Big-No, although less prone to concern than Ayber, still showed his discomfort. “If you're not back by the morning though, we _are_ coming to look for you.”

“You worry too much.” With a confident grin, MJ-II finished towelling down his face and headed for the elevator which led to the penthouses at the very top of the casino, the place where the METS-Men had made their homes. “I'm going to clean up and get changed, then head straight out. Don't wait up!”

=========================

MJ-II wasn't the only one who had work to do. Having got changed himself, his METS-glove and goggles now back in place, Big-No had returned to the storage room where Ninomiya Kazunari was being held captive and had begun to question him. He was tired not only from a day of travelling and from performing the show, but he needed some answers, and he needed them _now._

“So where are you _really_ from?” Big-No flexed his armoured hand slowly, deliberately, emphasising each word with the curl of an iron-clad finger; the muted white light from its armoured palm bathed his face from below, which only served to add to the menace of his expression, whether intentional or not. “You're telling me you really can't remember _anything?”_

“I've already _told_ you I don't remember!” Ninomiya winced and clutched at his head, the effort of attempting to recall his memories apparently causing him considerable pain. “You know I was working for Johnny-san, I can remember that much. I told you that. Check the database, I must be on the records!”

“You still _are_ working for Johnny-san. I've checked the records already.” 

“So why am I still locked up in here?”

“Because you're not telling me everything.” Big-No crouched down beside Ninomiya, not speaking unkindly, but his voice sounded firm nonetheless. “Why did you run away? What were you so afraid of that you'd risk a horde of Thirst Zombies rather than face it here alone? And why didn't we even know you existed?”

“I can't answer that because I don't know!”

“You don't know why you ran away?”

“No, I don't know why he chose not to tell you about me!” 

Even Big-No was beginning to feel regret now; Kazunari was obviously close to tears, and Big-No hadn't meant to scare him this much. Sighing, he sat back on his heels, considering his next move.

“Okay then, let's take things one by one.” Big-No was taking care now to talk more quietly, to not sound so accusative. “So we don't know why Johnny-san didn't tell you about us. We'll ask him ourselves, next time we meet with him. But about you trying to escape...”

“I ran away because I was being kept like a slave.” Ninomiya's voice was small, almost apologetic, although if what he said was true, he was the one who had been a victim. “I wasn't allowed to leave the building. I was only given food and water if I behaved. And none of you saw me because he made sure to keep me out of the way whenever you were granted access.”

“Is... is that true?” Now it was Big-No's turn to look worried. The METS-Men had worked for Johnny-san for years now; granted, he no longer had a body like a normal living person, but he had never given any indication that he could literally be inhuman. For Big-No to suddenly find out that his employer was not the kind man he'd thought he was came as a cruel revelation. “Did he really keep you locked up like that?”

“Yes.” 

It was hard to say whether Ninomiya was telling the truth, but if there was one thing Big-No had learned from his years of surviving in the New City Wasteland, it was never to doubt a possibility. With that in mind, Ninomiya's fate was certainly not something he could decide on his own.

“Okay. Maybe you _are_ telling the truth.”

“I _am!”_

“So you say. But we both know I can't just take your word for it.” Getting to his feet, Big-No took a step back. “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to leave you here for the night. We'll meet with you in the morning to make a proper decision.”

“You're not... not going to punish me...?” Ninomiya seemed genuinely relieved.

“It's not my job to do that.” For the first time since Big-No had been alone with Ninomiya, his expression softened. “It's not up to me to choose what happens to you from here. Look, you've got food and water, and some bedding, so... just try to get some rest and we'll sort this out in the morning, alright?”

“Alright.” 

Ninomiya appeared to have calmed down a little, at least. This was far from being an ideal situation for him – a cold, bare room, back in the clutches of the organisation he'd been trying to hard to escape from – but he did believe Big-No when the man had said he wouldn't be punished. Not yet, anyway. He was still glum, but at least he wasn't in any imminent danger. Satisfied that Ninomiya would stay put for the night, Big-No closed and locked the door behind him. Hopefully there would be more answers in the morning.

=========================

Ayber's claims about being tired hadn't been completely untrue, but his need for sleep wasn't the main reason why he had chosen to retreat to his penthouse after the show rather than accompany Big-No in interrogating their unexpected prisoner. No, he still had work to do before he could rest – work he would rather carry out in private.

Without even bothering to remove the jacket he'd been wearing onstage, he sat down in front of the old radio which Atsui had repaired for him after he'd found it abandoned in one of the derelict rooms downstairs. It sat on a rickety old desk half-covered with bits of paper and mildewed notebooks, several chewed pencils, and faded maps which looked like they'd seen better days. The radio still functioned normally for the most part, although when in use it crackled as though a small lightning storm was playing havoc with its inner workings. No matter; it would do what Ayber needed it to do.

“Kimitaka-kun? Kimitaka, can you hear me?” Placing a set of headphones over his ears, Ayber picked up the battered old microphone and raised it to his mouth. “Kimitaka, we've finished now. Sorry I---”

“Where have you _been,_ Masaki?” A male voice crackled from the speakers, distorted by distance and the dubious condition of the technology; the use of Ayber's real name indicated some kind of connection between the two men. “I've been waiting more than half an hour for you to turn up!”

“Ah, I'm really sorry!” Even though the man couldn't hear him, Ayber still found himself bowing towards the radio in apology. “The encore went on for longer than I expected – I've only just been able to get away.”

“Huh. Well, then. I suppose it can't be helped.” There was silence for a few moments – perhaps Kimitaka was having a drink, or checking that he couldn't be overheard. But then he spoke again: “Are you alone there, Ayber?”

“Yeah, it's just me. Why?”

“Okay. Just making sure. You got any more tip-offs for me?”

“Of course.” Scrabbling for one of the loose scraps of paper on the desk, Ayber picked it up and began to read off the details. “There's still most of a shipment of tinned beef in the loading bay of the Super-Duper Mart by that junction of the old I-15 highway, if that's any use; and if it's bottled drinks you're after, the sarsaparilla bottling plant at the---”

“I want some METS.”

“I can't _get_ you METS, Kimitaka. We've talked about this already. The supplies are kept under lock and key, and we have to keep a record of every single vial that we use.”

There was the sound of a heavy sigh, perhaps a sulky huff, from the speaker.

“Maybe you can't get any for me _yet,_ Masaki. But you know I'm going to need some eventually. That was part of the deal."

"We never _had_ a deal!" Ayber sounded distressed, cornered. "We're _friends,_ not business partners!"

"And friends help each other out." Even through the distortion of the radio, Kimitaka managed to sound smug. "You _are_ going to help me, aren't you, Masaki-kun...?"


	3. T.A.B.O.O.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((My apologies to those of you who have been waiting for Sakurai Sho to appear. Sorry about that! Here he is now. ^^; ))

MJ-II's penthouse suite these days was less of a bedroom and more of a botanical garden. The surfaces which hadn't been taken over by tiny potted trees were occupied with the tools and books required for cultivating them; there were manuals on how to do bonsai, small watering cans and delicate instruments to trim the diminutive leaves, as well as containers of carefully hoarded water with which to feed them. It was a hobby which both fascinated and pleased him, although he couldn't help but look at his tiny forest with a pang of bitter sadness.

He had never seen a real tree. There were plenty of pictures of them in books, of course; there were newsreels showing people sitting under trees, children climbing them, even whole forests of them stretching as far as the eye could see. But the only things MJ-II had ever seen which vaguely resembled actual-sized trees were the dusty plastic replicas which now stood in the foyer of several of the casinos, the sad, faded copies of what must once have been the most beautiful of plants. At least with his bonsai he could have some idea of what a tree must have smelled like, looked like, felt like. Maybe one day, if the METS-Men could properly re-hydrate the New City Wasteland, he could try and grow an actual, full-sized tree himself. Maybe one day...

But there was no time to think of such things now. MJ-II discarded his stage outfit on the bed – it would be picked up and cleaned later – and gave a sigh of relief at the feel of cool air against his skin after spending so long within the hot, restrictive clothes. He knew full well how impressive sequins looked under stage lights, but the weight of them quickly grew tiresome in this heat. It was always good to wash away the sweat of a show, and as he stepped into the shower he reminded himself, as always, that he was lucky to be able to enjoy such a commodity as fresh running water. That done, he changed back into the clothes which he usually wore as a METS-Man – worn black leather, with space for him to carry his gun – and towelled his hair dry, making sure he was presentable before stepping out again. He may only have been heading for a meeting with his usual contact, but that didn't mean he wasn't determined to look good.

=========================

Sweat glistened on skin, taut muscles moving sinuously in form-fitting leather which left little to the imagination, every inch of bare flesh on show a brazen advertisement for the body beneath. They moved in time to the music, a pounding bass beat with reverberated through the floor itself, pulsated throughout the room and even seemed to make the tables themselves quiver beneath the dancers who gyrated atop them. Gomorrah's main stage was rather different from the Tops' more antiquated, subtle furnishings; the stage itself was backed by a curtain of heavy red velvet, the floor beneath the stage dotted with tables and chairs where customers could sit and enjoy drinks from the bar whilst eyeing the dubious talent which swirled and strutted around them. There was no doubt at all what the dancers were selling, and they were more than eager to show off their wares.

MJ-II hated this place. It wasn't that he disapproved of sex – far from it. No, it was the fact he knew about how it operated, how the establishment preyed upon the weak and fed off their misfortune; many of the staff who worked there as 'entertainers' had fallen on hard times, lost too much money in Gomorrah's casino, and were forced to pay back what they owed by selling their bodies, since they no longer owned anything else.

“Keep calm, everyone! The moment has finally arrived.” The remaining dancers left the stage, an MC in a glittery jacket – not too dissimilar from MJ-II's own sequinned suit – stepping in front of a crackly microphone as the lights in the room dimmed, leaving only a single spotlight which shone onto the velvet curtains. “Our star attraction is ready and waiting to see you now. Our 'KO Boy' will knock you out; let his sloping shoulders help your slide down into temptation. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... the one, the only, Sakurai Sho!”

The music started with a single, solo guitar riff, three simple notes which instantly stilled any remaining sounds within the room; and then followed a lone voice, resonant and deep, heavy with the promise of lust and its eventual fulfilment. Tight leather trousers clung to a pair of shapely legs, the suggestive bulge within not leaving much to the imagination; an open black shirt framed a smooth, toned chest, rising and falling with each ragged breath, the man's body moving sinuously across the stage with the poise and intent of an experienced predator. His hair gave the impression of having been carefully-styled to resemble the aftermath of a rough, passionate encounter, and his look was finished off with a narrow-brimmed hat which sat at a jaunty angle on top of a smirking face. MJ-II was close enough to see the pleasure in that smile, the pleasure of a man who clearly savoured having so many people paying such attention to him.

_That's why he's so popular._

MJ-II could more than understand now why Sakurai-san had such a reputation here. It was obvious that the man had sex appeal, but more importantly that he knew full well how to use it to his best advantage. His voice, his smile, his body language; every little gesture was geared towards drawing attention to his body, to advertising what amounted to his wares. MJ-II had never seen the man before as he'd always been busy performing, or running missions for Johnny-san. It just so happened tonight that the METS-Men had finished their show early enough that Sakurai Sho hadn't started performing his own act yet, meaning he'd arrived in time to see it... and MJ-II was very glad that he had. The man was something else entirely. Clearly the LDH Corporation, the owners of Gomorrah, had decided to keep the best for last.

Sho didn't just keep his performance confined to the stage, either. As the song progressed so, too, did his state of undress; his hat was the first to go, followed by his shirt, exposing the muscles of his arms as he advanced along the front row of tables where MJ-II was sitting. He paused in front of MJ-II, perhaps surprised at not having seen him before, and flashed him the most mischievous of glances without skipping a single word; he smiled at the other patrons too, knowing wink here, a playful nod there, but always his gaze seemed to return to MJ-II.

_Is it just me, or is tonight about to get... interesting?_

As the last notes of the song faded away Sho happened to be standing beside MJ-II's table, and he was pretty damn sure that wasn't a coincidence. Sho's eyes lingered on his face as the room erupted into a thunderous applause; every set of hands was clapping the performance, praising Sakurai Sho's dubious skills. Every set, that is, apart from MJ-II's. Perhaps as MJ-II had expected, this caused Sho to frown – almost a pout, really – and before MJ-II could make his excuses and move, Sho was sitting down at the table beside him, even attempting to wave away a small crowd who were clearly his dedicated fans.

“Sorry, I'm busy with this gentleman for a moment. Yes, of course I remember you – there's a tattoo of a wing on your left shoulder, yeah? - but I'm already spoken for tonight, sorry. No, sir, I'm not free next Thursday, I've got a booking with a few boys from Primm that day...”

When the throng had finally been dispersed, Sho sighed and turned to MJ-II, who had been watching the whole thing with interest.

“Busy week, huh?”

“Busy life.” Sho flagged down a staff member who didn't even bother to take his order, instead heading straight for the bar and bringing over a small bottle of soda without even needing to ask what the man wanted. “You weren't clapping, though. Didn't you enjoy the performance?”

“Oh, I enjoyed it.” That much was true; something about the way in which Sho had moved his hips had been utterly mesmerising, and MJ-II hadn't been able to tear his eyes away. “But I didn't think I needed to show my appreciation. It looks like you have more than enough people to do that for you already.”

“I could always use one more.” The man sounded almost petulant, taking MJ-II's refusal to join in with the applause as a personal affront. Why hadn't MJ-II clapped, though? Maybe he'd been expecting this kind of a response from Sho. Maybe he'd secretly wanted it. “Perhaps a private performance would help to change your mind?”

“No thanks.” MJ-II almost laughed at the man's shameless attitude. “Do you normally go about throwing yourself at people like this?”

“Hardly.” Sho snorted indignantly. “Normally _they're_ the ones throwing themselves at _me.”_

“Clearly they find your modesty so irresistible.”

“Well, aren't _you_ the charmer?”

 _“You_ decided to sit down next to _me.”_

“Because I thought you looked like you might be interesting.” The dancer's expression was practically a pout. “Guess I was wrong.”

“That's supposed to annoy me, right? Implying that I'm boring?”

“God, you're _annoying.”_

Sho gave another snort and folded his arms across his chest, which only served to make MJ-II laugh. It was obvious that Gomorrah's star attraction was getting more and more wound up; good. It sounded like the man could do with a healthy dose of humility. As for what _he_ wanted, well... MJ-II realised he was actually enjoying this exchange. Sakurai Sho certainly had an impressive body, but his attitude still had some way to go before it could match up.

“And you're full of yourself.” MJ-II continued to grin at him. It already amused him to bait the man like this. “Anyway, like I already said, I'm not making you sit here talking to me. Don't you have business to attend to?”

“Oh, I don't handle my paychecks. The management---”

“Sorry, did I say 'business'? I meant 'paying customers'.”

“They can wait.”

“I'm not sure they can.” MJ-II risked another glance around the room, at the not-so-subtle glances, the people positively glaring in their direction. “It's bad publicity to keep your public waiting. Trust me on that one.”

“Oh, they'll wait. All of them.” Sho's smug grin returned, although MJ-II couldn't help but notice that it was still him that the dancer was paying attention to. “Men, women, and anyone else in between. I'm for sale to anyone, as long as they can pay me the right price.”

“And what makes you think I'm interested? You already seem upset that I didn't applaud your performance.”

“I think you're curious.” Sho continued to smirk, unfolding his arms and raising a hand slowly to his lips, deliberately allowing his tongue to explore the tip of a finger, watching MJ-II as he did so. “I think you wouldn't still be talking to me if I had my shirt on.”

“I'm curious? How so?” God, it certainly was enticing seeing the man's tongue move like that – but to actually admit it would be to admit defeat, and MJ-II was far from ready to do that yet. “You wouldn't be my first, if that's what you mean.”

“I wouldn't be your first man, perhaps.” Sho gave a knowing smile, the smile of a man who knew the measure of a person without them barely having to utter a word. “But the first partner you've ever paid for... wouldn't _that_ be something new?”

“What makes you say that?” MJ-II wasn't rattled, if that had been the man's intention. If anything he was entertained, settling further back in his chair as he waited to see what the other man would say. “Wait, don't tell me; it's the good looks, right? Someone as charming as me doesn't need to pay for sex.”

“That's not quite what I meant.” The man laughed, a genuinely warm chuckle, not the false and insincere giggles he could hear from several other dancers around the room. “You're a person with morals.”

“And people with morals aren't willing to pay in order to have a good time?”

“Oh no, that's not what I mean at all. But you...” 

Now Sho grew bold, leaning in close enough to trail a mischievous finger along MJ-II's jawline – a finger which MJ-II should have stopped. His reactions were fast enough to have noticed what Sho was doing, and he realised in a flash of clarity that he wanted the other man to touch him, to see what that feel of skin-on-skin would do, and---

It was _electric._

Sho's touch aroused something within MJ-II which he hadn't felt for a long, long time. There was lust there, certainly; there was open desire, the urge for his needs to be satisfied, the promise of a rough, passionate coupling... but there was also a hint of gentle lovemaking, the potential to be stroked and caressed and _wanted_ , to share a mutual affection and a warm, comfortable bed, a kiss... MJ-II could barely suppress a shudder as Sho's hand continued to make its way across his cheek, the man finally pulling away with a look of triumph.

“Your name.” Sho's voice regained the deep, resonant purr with which he had opened his song, and it still held the same illicit promise. “Your name, MJ.”

“Huh?”

“Pay me with your name.” Sho's expression was nothing short of predatory now, his eyes burning with an intense desire, his lips slightly parted to allow his ragged breathing to be heard. “Pleasure me, and let me speak your name when you bring me, shuddering, to utter completion. That will be payment enough.”

Even MJ-II, with his years of experience, had to make an effort not to choke on his drink. 

“But that's not all you're after, is it?”

“No? What makes you say that?” Wanton as ever, Sho continued to move his fingers in a provocative manner, even as MJ-II did his best to maintain the conversation, his finger tips sliding across his own bare shoulders, his fingertips tracing mesmerising circles over his naked chest in a shameless display of sexuality. “You're one of the METS-Men. There are a lot of people out there who'd do their best to try and seduce you. Don't tell me you don't know that?”

“You're far too eager, Sakurai.” Yes, MJ-II – as well as Big-No, and Ayber – were very well-aware of their sex appeal, and they did their best not to let themselves get carried away with it. If they didn't exercise caution, it could have been easy for a rival, even an assassin, to do them some serious harm. “Nobody ever wants something this badly unless they stand to gain something else in return.”

“Can't I just have a high sex drive, hmm?”

“If that was all you were after, there are plenty of other people in this room who would pay you for the privilege.” MJ-II swept his arm around them, indicating the many pairs of eyes currently watching their exchange, some of them openly envious. He hoped Sho hadn't noticed the way his hands were trembling.

“If you want me, MJ-kun...” Such familiarity, such boldness. “If you want me... ask for me by name. The staff will show you to my room.”

And with those words, and a final smirk, Sakurai Sho pushed back his chair and got to his feet, walking off towards the private area marked 'Staff Only' with a sway in his step which he knew – he _knew_ – would only serve to provoke MJ-II even further. He wasn't wrong. In fact, MJ-II was so transfixed on Sho's exit that he didn't even notice the other man sitting down at his table until he greeted him with a soft 'hello'.

“Ah! Sorry.” Blushing slightly, MJ-II bowed at the newcomer and flagged down a waiter to order another round of drinks. “I should have been more observant.”

“Not a problem.” The man smiled, a warm grin which reached his eyes, causing MJ-II to instantly relax. He recognised the face of Ikuta Toma, today wearing the dusty, travel-stained clothes of a seasoned drifter, someone who travelled from place to place making a living peddling their wares – which in Toma's case was information. “I think we're safe here, at least for tonight. It's the outskirts of town which are looking the most dangerous at the moment.”

“Even more than usual?” The scattered settlements amongst the ruined suburbs of New City weren't the safest places to live at the best of times. If the mutated wildlife didn't kill people, unscrupulous humans often did. “Anything we should be aware of?”

“The Eighters are on the move, for a start.”

“Damn.” MJ-II had heard of the Eighters, although he'd never encountered them himself. They were a group of Raiders renowned for their (admittedly dubious) sense of humour, rumoured to fight hard and party even harder. “Do the settlements need our help?”

“Not yet, but don't be surprised if reports start to come in.” Toma gave his thanks to the waiter as the man placed a couple of drinks down on the table in front of them. “Just be careful if you're headed West, that's all I'm saying. I didn't get attacked on the way in, but that may have been luck more than anything else.”

“Any information about Thirst Zombies in that direction?”

“Towards the Eighters' territory? No. I think they dislike them as much as you do, although they're a lot less... merciful when it comes to getting rid of them.”

MJ-II nodded, his expression sober; whilst the METS-Men dealt with Thirst Zombies by rehydrating them, another way of stopping them was to kill the person outright.

“And the Eighters aren't the only ones getting restless either,” Toma continued. “The Great Khans have started making incursions closer towards New City as well.”

“The Great Khans?”

“They set up home in Red Rock Canyon to the West a few years ago, remember?”

“Ah, right.” Yes, MJ-II remembered. The METS-Men had not had any direct dealings with the Great Khans and they hoped not to ever have to. The gang had a reputation for being even more brutal than the Eighters, and MJ-II had always made sure to avoid their territory wherever possible. If they were moving closer to the city though, it may end up being inevitable that they would cross paths, and that was something he really wasn't looking forward to. “Any idea what they're after?”

“Resources, probably. Water. Food. We've had a dry few years and some of the streams up in the mountains might have dried up completely.”

“In that case let's hope they find what they're after and head back soon enough.”

“Very much agreed.” Finishing his drink, Toma took a moment to glance around the room and then leaned in closer towards MJ-II, speaking in an even more hushed whisper. “And that's not all. I'll give you this piece of information for free, since you've always been a good customer. Have you heard of Synths?”

“No...?” MJ-II frowned. If Toma was showing concern about something, it usually meant something to genuinely be concerned about. “What's a Synth?”

“Robots. Robots who look like humans.”

“Is that really a problem?”

MJ-II still wasn't convinced yet. There were already plenty of robots around New City, relics from a bygone age still carrying out the duties they had been programmed to perform before the bombs had fallen and reduced much of the world to a desolate wasteland. Some of them were simple robots assigned to stewarding duties such as cleaning and picking up rubbish; others were far more dangerous, such as the Sentry Bots which patrolled the remote and long-abandoned military outposts in the desert. There were even some here in the Gomorrah casino, serving drinks and functioning as bartenders to the clientele. But at least they all looked like robots, their rusty metal casings and monotone voices making their status as machines more than obvious.

“Yes, it's a problem.” Toma's expression remained grim. “At least with other robots, you know what they are. The problem with Synths is that anyone you know – _anyone_ – could be one, and there's no way you can tell.”

“You're sure about this?” MJ-II frowned. “It seems a little... paranoid.”

“I'm sure.” The scavenger gave a steady nod in the affirmative. “Have I ever given you false information before?”

“Well, no, but...”

“I'm not about to start now. Look, the main issue with Synths is that you don't know who's controlling them. Robots have to be programmed by _someone,_ right? So who's programming the Synths? What were they created for? What's their goal? Look, all I'm saying is – be careful. Be careful about who you trust, and what you tell people.” He placed a hand on MJ-II's arm. “Listen, MJ - you're not just a customer to me, you're a friend. I don't want to see you get hurt.”

“Okay, I will. I promise.” And MJ-II's trademark smile returned, just in time for him to down the rest of his drink. “And thanks. Another round?”

“No, I'm good. But thanks anyway.” Toma toyed with the empty glass on the table in front of him. “By the way, was that Sakurai Sho you were speaking to just now?”

“Yes it was. And?” To his surprise, MJ-II found himself getting very defensive, his palms starting to sweat. “What do you know about him?”

“Nothing, and that's the problem.” Toma looked serious. “Most people are pretty easy to investigate, if you put your mind to it. But Sakurai... he's the star attraction here. He's literally kept under lock and key, like a prized bird in a gilded cage. I don't know about his background or his family, or if he even has one at all.”

“Just because you can't find the information doesn't mean it doesn't exist.”

“You'd better not be doubting my abilities.” The worried expression on Toma's face vanished, and he clapped the other man on the back. “You look after yourself, anyway. I've got another appointment now at a hotel just down the strip... an urgent appointment with a cool bath and a comfy bed. Good to see you again, MJ.”

“Good to see you too, Toma. Goodnight!”

Much as it was always a pleasure to see Ikuta Toma, MJ-II couldn't help but feel relief as the man departed. The warnings about Sho had been made out of genuine concern, but MJ-II felt a part of himself resent them all the same. _I'm not going to get involved with Sakurai Sho, whatever happens. I'm not some rampant teenager so eager for satisfaction that I'd throw away all caution in order to get some relief. I know what I'm doing._

_I think._

All this overthinking was beginning to give MJ-II a headache. He massaged his temples and ordered another drink – just soda this time, something to help dissipate the alcohol coursing through his system – as he tried to dissect and remember the information which he had just been given. The Eighters, the Great Khans, the Synths... There had to be a pattern to it all, there just had to be, but it was very difficult to focus on all of it when his mind kept picturing Sakurai Sho's beautiful body moving so expertly across that stage, the deep resonance of his voice, the way his tongue had moved so skilfully across his fingertips, the touch of his hand against his skin...

_Damn it. I'm tense as Hell, and if anything happens to me, my contact knows I was here so at least there's a witness in case Big-No and Ayber need a lead. I can't get that man out of my mind._

Downing his soda he got to his feet, ignoring some of the pointed glances from the other patrons who still hadn't gotten over the fact that the famed Sakurai Sho had been talking to him. It was only a short walk to the door through which the man had disappeared earlier, and he found that his feet were carrying him there far more eagerly than he had anticipated; a quick word the with burly-looking staff member standing beside the door and he was inside, being shown the way towards Sakurai Sho's private quarters, his mind a blur as he ignored all the warnings being shouted at him by the voice inside his own head.

_What are you doing, MJ? This is stupid! You're thinking with your pants, not your brain! This could be incredibly dangerous! You're on enemy territory, about to let yourself be alone and unarmed with a man you don't even know---_

He reached Sho's door, only to find it unlocked and open. He stepped inside, finding the man exactly as he said he would be, ready and waiting. And just as Sho had asked, he paid in full.


End file.
